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Showing posts from February, 2011

Don't Make Myths

Yesterday I looked at some old poems I tried to write about a place I worked called Elm Bank (in Kettering) & three women I knew there, all of whom I fancied, one of whom I had a brief, unsuccessful fling with, & one of whom I ended up being the immasculated mistress of for three years. The poems had some good moments in them, but generally they didn't work. & now there seems little point in persisting with them; the energy has gone. I wondered, though, after looking at them, how I managed when things had started so well to fuck up three potentially beautiful friendships & I realised that in two out of three cases it was dishonesty (& foot odour probably). I liked to think I was a big pot-smoking vegetarian storm-the-barricades hippie radical & I was actually a shy, arrogant, inexperienced, stay-at-home book-radical writing anti-Conservative screeds in my journals to be discovered by lit archaelogists decades hence & occasionally sending out average poe…

Thursday Morning Sweet Outbreath For The Human Race

I might have read a lot, written a lot, talked a lot (!!!), heard a lot, seen a lot, I might even have improved the lot of a few (not a lot), by caring enough to try, but nothing matters either a little or a lot to me, in the end, except the connections I've made, the people I've met & known, the people I've laughed with & hung out with & loved, even if sometimes it didn't last for long...

(It's amazing how generous you feel towards humanity & life when one of the things that's been worrying you for weeks & weeks gets sorted out!)

Free Writing After Watching "Stonehenge Visions Tipi Valley Dreams" On You Tube

It was as beautiful on the fringes back then as it was ugly looking in on the Straight world. I used to work in a Whole Food shop called Ploughshares run by Uni graduates dedicated to veganism, incense, good weed & replacing the Capitalist oligarchy with people who could think & feel, people in touch with their spirit & the spirit of Life, people who'd rather go & sit under a tree with a bottle of pure orange than sit in a coffee shop. We considered the guy who ran the corporate health food shop across town a Nazi & Margaret Thatcher represented everything that was dark & putrid in human evolution. & you know what? I don't know what happened to those guys -- Ploughshares got bought out by middle-class dilletantes when the profits plummeted, & the original co-operative members all quit -- but I really haven't changed at all. People always say that when they get middle-aged & pot-bellied but if you don't believe it come round my house …

POETS AS DRINKING PARTNERS

Yesterday our esteemed Creative Writing lecturer opined that although Robert Browning was a great poet - they like to tell you these things rather than put you to the trouble of working it out for yourself - he wouldn't want to go to the pub with him. I was deliberately keeping quiet this time because of all the disputes I've had with the lecturer in previous classes (it's becoming a bit of a floor show, actually, for the other students); but how wrong can a (presumably) educated man be? Robert Browning would have been a great bloke to go to the pub with. Who else can you think of from the respectable side of the poetry game who wrote two poems in the voice of a man who has murdered his wife? I mean, obviously I don't applaud the sentiment - I've never wanted to murder anybody, although Margaret Thatcher's name still makes me bubble with hate - but at least he wasn't writing cutesy things about knights and long-haired women in towers like Tennyson (sorry Ke…

What In Bob's Name Is A Poem Anyway

I have a book called 'Hollywood Foto Rhetoric' that Bob Dylan wrote the text for many years ago. There's an interview with him from 2008 in which the interview says, "Do you consider the pieces in the text poems?" Bob says, "I don't know, you'd have to ask an Academic that." The interviewer says, "But what do you think?" (He's obviously never read another Dylan interview.) Bob says, "I'd have to ask an Academic too. But who cares?" Which is exactly how I feel about my poetry. Or whatever you want to call it. Everything is poetry. Nothing is poetry. "A poem," as Bob once said, "is a naked person." All I do is write. What you want to do with it afterwards is up to you, I'm not looking for a career or a seat on the Faculty and I sure as hell don't want Andrew Neill to give me £30 000 because I'm "accessible" like Jo Shapcott. I refuse to take an award from anybody who edited a Ru…